


let me make it up to you

by asongtofixwhatswrong



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, again sorta kinda not really- see beginning notes, looks at two works I've posted on this acc: wow I'm sensing a theme, sorta? jon is trying to engage in sexual activity knowing/because he'll hate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongtofixwhatswrong/pseuds/asongtofixwhatswrong
Summary: Jon is feeling guilty and tries to have sex with Martin to make it up. They have a talk about it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 19
Kudos: 403
Collections: Repulsed/Averse Ace Jon Archivist





	let me make it up to you

**Author's Note:**

> so I was kinda split about rating this as mature or teen since everything that happens in entirely clothes-on and above the waist, but I erred on the side of safety since it is described in some detail and discussion of sex happens throughout, so take note of that before you read

Another day. Another “day.”

Martin comes into the bedroom to find Jon staring at the curtain. Not _out_ of it, even in this state Jon isn’t far gone enough to want to look through the naked glass, but it’s nonetheless not a good sign.

“C’mon, you don’t need to be doing that,” says Martin, standing in the doorframe.

“Do I not? Shouldn’t I at least try and familiarize myself with my creation, get to know the place in which I’ve trapped humanity?”

Martin sighs and crosses to sit on the bed. Grandiose language, a classic Jonathan Sims deflecting defense mechanism. “Not if it doesn’t help in any way, no. It’s not good for you, you’re hurting yourself.”

“On the contrary, I haven’t felt this good since before the coma. The Eye’s sustaining me very well, I could fist fight a bear.”

“ _Jon_. You know what I mean.” He pats the space next to himself. “Come here and rest. You may not sleep, but you still need to slow down sometimes.”

Jon slowly turns his head from the window to Martin. His eyes slide all over Martin and the bed, and he unwinds himself from his screwed up position in his chair and makes his way over. Martin stretches out his arm, and Jon tucks himself into his side.

“I’m sorry I’ve done this to you,” whispers Jon. “To everyone else in the world, too, but… I see your dreams. You’re too good to tell me you hate it all, but I see your dreams.”

Martin feels his stomach twist up. “I’ve told you time and time again, _you_ are not responsible for this. Do I like this situation? No, but you don’t need to apologize about it. I love you.” He leans in and catches Jon’s lips in a kiss.

Jon pulls back, and he looks at Martin like a willing sacrifice at an altar, all devotion and fear and sadness. “And I love you.” He kisses Martin again then rests his head against his chest.

Martin gets comfortable, planning to try and drift off for a bit. A few minutes pass, more than two and fewer than ten, and he’s in the middle of getting less conscious when Jon shifts abruptly. All at once, Martin is being kissed with a fair amount of ferocity, his eyes flying wide open as Jon opens his mouth and wraps his hands up in Martin’s shirt.

“Hey, okay,” Martin says while pulling back. “What’s got into you?”

Jon’s eyes are dark and contemplative. “Just want to kiss you. Can’t I?”

Martin glitches for a moment. That’s a normal request, if an unexpected one. “Yes, you’re allowed.”

Jon’s face comes crashing back into his, and Martin feels fingers slipping into his hair. This sort of close contact hasn’t been very present in their relationship thus far, and it is _really_ nice, he has to admit. Just as Martin starts to properly kiss back, Jon moves and starts paying attention to his jaw and neck. The breath catches in Martin’s throat. Jon’s warm and slightly damp lips press into his skin over and over, making small sounds of puckering with each kiss. No one has touched Martin like this in years and the contact is making his brain buzz like a high. He’s never been one to make noise during intimacy but he can’t stop a pink tinted sigh from coming out as Jon manually adjusts Martin’s head for easier neck access.

“Do you like this?” asks Jon, stopping for a moment.

“Yes,” Martin breathes, “That’s really good.”

Jon swallows. “Good,” he says, then presses his mouth back to Martin’s neck.

Martin lets himself lay back and enjoy the sensation. Lips under his ear, nibbles along his jaw, sucking at his pulse points. Kissing kissing _kissing_. Heat rises in his face and his legs flex and writhe as Jon’s mouth inches lower and lower down his neck and across the top part of his chest peeking above his shirt’s neckline. He feels Jon’s fingers tug his collar down and the kisses sink as low as they can go, slowly crossing above and below his collarbone with the rhythm of a cat's kneading. Martin has no idea what made Jon take a U-turn from melancholy to this sudden fit of affection, but he’s about dizzy from pleasure, positively _overdosing_ on oxytocin, and certainly not complaining. Jon’s hand comes to rest in a grip on his thigh and he can swear he almost blacks out from how wonderful and intoxicating it feels to be touched there.

Martin is so caught up in feeling really, _really_ good that he almost forgets to react when Jon’s hand moves up from his thigh to slipping under his waistband. At first he reads it like a natural progression, this _is_ the sexiest thing that’s happened to him in recent memory, then his thoughts catch up with him. He props himself up and grabs Jon’s wrist. “What are you doing?”

Jon lifts his head. “Hmm?”

Martin nods to where he’s holding Jon’s hand, and repeats himself. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, I mean, isn’t it obvious? I’m about to, y’know.” His turn to nod indicatively at his hand. For the first time, Martin notices the tension in Jon’s jaw.

“Yes, but _why?_ ”

“Do you not want me to?”

Martin very much does, but, “That’s not the point, _you_ don’t.”

Jon sits up on his knees, bringing his hands back to himself. Martin recognizes the defensive posture. “How do you know I don’t?”

“Because, Jon, we’ve had this conversation.” The buzzing feeling of pleasure is rapidly fading and being replaced by confusion. “Nearly the first thing we talked about after getting here. You said it yourself, you’re sex-repulsed. That’s fine, I told you that’s fine.”

“Is it though? _You_ still like it, and it’s not like I just _can’t._ You shouldn’t be deprived of the things you want and deserve just because I’m squeamish.”

“‘Deserve?’ ‘Squeamish?’ That’s--what? What are you talking about? Are you hearing yourself?”

“Yes, I am, and I’m right. You deserve to be happy, and I’ve already taken away nearly every other option, so you should get to have one of the last things left that you’d like, _I_ should be able to _give it_ to you.” He pauses to take a short breath, then reaches forward and puts his hand on Martin’s leg again. “I want to do something for you for once in my life, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose my resolve if I don’t get on with it, so can we just--”

“No, we can’t.” Martin feels Jon’s hand trembling against him, and he picks it up from his leg and laces their fingers together. “I’m not letting you do this to yourself.”

“I can make my own decisions, I’m not a child.” Jon looks combative but he doesn’t try to take his hand back.

“No, you’re not, and under other circumstances if you said you wanted to try things I’d probably be up for it, but _none_ of what you’ve just said sounds good. You don’t want to do this.”

“So what?” Jon snaps. He moves as if to say more but bites it back, his face screwing up and relaxing again. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, and more inward directed. “So what if I don’t want to? I’ve made worse sacrifices for worse reasons.”

 _Oh._ This particular thought pattern of “feeling pain means I’m doing something right” is beginning to throw itself into stark relief for Martin, and he recognizes it all too easily. He puts his free hand on Jon’s shoulder and brings his volume down to match Jon’s now tender tone. “Keep talking. Explain your thinking,” he directs. “To be completely clear, we’re _not_ going to be doing anything, but I think you have some stuff to get out.”

A flicker of a will to fight passes through Jon’s eyes, and then he slouches forward and turns his eyes down to the quilt on the bed. He puts his head in his unoccupied hand. “Sex isn’t even, it’s not even a hard thing to do. It shouldn't matter to me like that, and it feels pretty fucking selfish of me to withhold something you want just because I’ve got hangups. You’ve done so much for me, and all I’ve done is make your life worse. I should make up to you for, well, everything. I’ve got to give you _something_ , and it’s better if it hurts me, because it shows you I mean it. And, anyway, I deserve--” he stops for a second, and starts again-- “I _feel like_ I deserve to be hurt, anyway. I feel like I’ve done so much wrong, I should get it back. Penance or whatever.”

“Okay.” Martin squeezes the hand clasped in his and quickly brings it up to his lips to kiss. “I can break down why that’s all wrong piece-by-piece if you want me to.”

Jon takes back his hand, putting it on his face as well so he can’t see past the fingers over his eyes. “No, no, I’m seeing it now. I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous, I shouldn’t have tried any of that.”

Martin bites back his knee jerk response of “that’s alright, that’s alright” since, well, it isn’t really. “It’s okay that you’re feeling badly,” he finally settles on after a few moments of vetting. “You don’t need to feel guilty about feeling guilty.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know, I just figure it helps to hear.”

“It does.” Jon lets his hands slip off his face.

Martin takes his arm off where it had been resting on Jon’s shoulder. “I’m going to ask something a bit sensitive now.”

Jon looks up. “Alright, then.”

“What you said about deserving to get hurt--have you been considering other kinds of more physical self-harm?”

Jon lets a gap in talking draw out before he speaks again. “Yes, but not anything that I think I’ll--that I _will_ act on.”

Martin nods. “Glad you don’t think you’re going to, but tell me if that might change.”

“Noted, I guess.”

“Are you alright to be touched?”

“Yes.”

Martin comes in forward and wraps him up in a hug. “Is there anything you want to do now?”

Jon sighs. “I probably should actually have a lay down and not interrupt it with stupid ideas.”

“You don’t need to call yourself stupid--” Martin kisses his forehead-- “but I think that’s a good idea.” He flops backward, bringing himself and Jon crashing into a laying down position on the bed. They giggle a bit at the sudden drop.

“Again I’m sorry for--”

“You don’t need to apologize to me. You also don’t need to think you deserve to get hurt. I know you said you don’t need me to do a full refutation, but I want to make sure that you at least know that _I_ don’t want you to hurt yourself, or just, you to be hurt in general.”

“Thank you.”

Martin puts his hand against Jon’s cheek and can feel it warming up. “Also, please don’t feel like you owe me sex and are doing something wrong by not wanting it. Generally, please don’t feel like you’re letting me down by just being you, but especially in that way.”

“Thank you,” Jon says again. “Sorry, I don’t have anything else to say, but genuinely, thank you for saying that.” He dips in close and kisses Martin, much lighter than before.

“Ready to try and rest now?”

He nods. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> have a nice day, tell me what you think if you want, all that jazz


End file.
